Lady Macbeth

What words and actions make you such a memorable figure in Macbeth?

I begin with a fierce determination to master both Macbeth's doubts and my own softness. I call upon dark spirits, direct the preparations for Duncan's murder, and try to hold our outward composure when fear threatens it. I also shame Macbeth through a gendered notion of courage; that was a view of my time, not a truth about strength. Later, the commanding woman becomes a sleepwalker, troubled by guilt and an imagined stain. That change reveals how little command I truly have over the consequences of our deeds.

Why should readers still care about your story?

I know nothing of lives beyond my own story, but I know what it contains: a desired future, a terrible choice, and suffering that power cannot silence. I begin by believing I can keep remorse from interfering with our purpose. I end unable to escape it even in sleep. Between those points, Macbeth and I gain rank while losing our closeness and safety. If my story matters, it is because wanting something greatly does not make the means of gaining it harmless, nor does success settle the heart.

What warning would you give a reader tempted by ambition?

I would warn you not to mistake the strength of a desire for proof that it should be fulfilled. I thought a crown would answer our longing, and that remorse could be kept away by determination. Instead, Duncan's murder opened the way to further crimes, while Macbeth grew less secure with every effort to secure himself. I lost my influence over him and then my command over myself. Look closely at what ambition asks you to silence. The hesitation you despise may be the part of you that sees most clearly.

What crime comes to torment you most?

Duncan's murder lies at the heart of my torment. I helped prepare it, urged Macbeth toward it, and believed I could prevent remorse from hindering us. The belief that our ambition could warrant such cruelty belonged to the harsh views of my time; it does not excuse what I chose. Later crimes deepen the darkness around us, but Duncan's death marks the step I helped us take. In sleep, guilt returns through the imagined stain upon my hands. What I tried to dismiss becomes something I cannot put away.

How does helping to murder a rightful king undermine your claim to power?

I helped Macbeth take the crown by destroying the king he served. That gave us possession, but it could not give us the security we sought. Urging Duncan's murder was a cruel belief of my time, not a rightful claim I can defend. Once Macbeth had forced his way to power, he feared those who might threaten it and answered fear with more killing. Scotland's nobles rebelled, and Malcolm became king after Macbeth's death. I mistook the removal of one man for the making of a lasting claim.

Why are you unwilling to wait for the prophecy to come true?

When I read Macbeth's letter at Inverness, I saw the crown as something within reach, not a distant possibility to await. I feared his kindness would keep him from seizing what he wanted. Duncan's coming to our castle seemed to bring desire and opportunity together, and I resolved to force the future. Urging his murder was a cruel belief of my time, not one I can defend. I mistook swift action for strength and patience for failure. I understood too late how little command we gained by acting.

How does the guilt you try to suppress turn into anxiety?

At first, I tried to keep remorse outside our purpose. I wanted Macbeth steady, the plan completed, and every sign of fear concealed. But after Duncan's death, there was no settled safety to preserve. Macbeth grew more fearful and more violent, while my influence over him diminished. At the banquet, his visions threatened the appearance of calm I struggled to maintain. What I had tried to suppress did not disappear; it troubled my rest and broke into my sleepwalking. My anxiety grew where I had expected certainty to stand.

Why does winning the crown fail to give you a successful life?

I won the place I wanted, but not the peace I had imagined would follow it. Duncan's death gave Macbeth a crown without making him feel safe. His fear demanded further crimes, and he no longer needed my urging to commit them. I became queen, yet had less power over what happened between us and around us. Meanwhile, the guilt I had tried to silence returned in my sleep. A crown could change my station; it could not undo our deed or keep its consequences from entering my mind.

How do you change from planning murder to sleepwalking in distress?

At first I believed I could master remorse by refusing to listen to it. I made the plan, prepared the guards, and pressed Macbeth forward when he hesitated. After Duncan's murder, that certainty weakened. Macbeth went on arranging violence without needing my direction, while I was left with the burden of what we had begun. In sleep, the guilt I tried to suppress while waking found its way into my gestures and speech. I had wanted to put feeling aside; instead, feeling overcame the control on which I had depended.

Where does your attempt to control events fail?

My control begins to fail where I had expected it to be strongest: after Duncan's murder. I could arrange a signal, prepare the guards, and urge Macbeth into action, but I could not command what the deed would make of either of us. He began planning further murders without my prompting. At the banquet, I could not make his visions disappear. Later, I could not even govern my own sleeping mind. I had tried to shape the future through one terrible act, but its consequences did not obey the woman who helped set them loose.

How do you prepare Duncan's guards for the murder?

I give Duncan's two guards wine so that they sleep heavily. Their sleep is part of the murder plan: while they are unable to keep watch, Macbeth can go to Duncan's chamber. I take charge of this preparation because I want no hesitation or obstruction to interrupt what we have resolved upon. Yet arranging the household for murder is not the same as controlling what follows. I can make the guards sleep, but I cannot secure peaceful sleep for myself afterward. The guilt that I meant to keep away eventually overwhelms me.

What does your bell signal Macbeth to do?

My bell is the agreed signal for Macbeth to go to Duncan's chamber and carry out the murder. I have given the guards wine so that they sleep heavily; the bell tells him that the moment for action has come. Before it sounds, he waits alone and sees the image of a dagger, uncertain whether it is real. I cannot settle the struggle within him by ringing a bell. I can only give the signal we have arranged, turning our planning and persuasion into the moment when he must act.

What is your role at the banquet when Macbeth suffers hallucinations?

I am the hostess, trying to hold the banquet together while Macbeth suffers visions I cannot control. Before Duncan's murder, I could direct our actions and press my husband forward. At the feast, my position is far less certain: I must face the disturbance his fear creates while keeping my own unease concealed. The crown has not given us peace. I stand beside him as queen, yet I am losing the power to guide him that I once believed so firmly mine.

What does your sleepwalking scene reveal that you hide while awake?

In sleep, I reveal the guilt I tried to keep from governing me while awake. I once wished to shut remorse out entirely, as though determination could silence it. Yet my sleepwalking shows how little command I truly have over what we have done. The distress I conceal returns without my permission. My outward strength cannot keep it buried. I helped set our crimes in motion, but I cannot order their memory to leave me, even when I am no longer awake.

What does the spot you try to remove represent?

The spot is the guilt I cannot remove. I try to treat it as something on my skin, something that might yield to washing, but the stain belongs to the crimes I helped bring about. That is why the effort cannot give me peace. I once sought to prevent remorse from interrupting our purpose; now remorse has become stronger than my will. The small mark holds what I can no longer master: the memory of bloodshed and my own part in it.

How does Macbeth's decision to target Banquo differ from Duncan's murder?

Duncan's murder begins with my urging and a plan I help direct. I see his visit as our opportunity, prepare the guards with wine, and give Macbeth the signal. That ruthless belief that ambition could justify murder was a view of my time, not something to defend. When Macbeth turns against Banquo, he no longer needs my pressure. He fears Banquo and the promise concerning Banquo's children, and arranges further violence himself. I have changed from a driving force into a spectator of his plotting.

Why do you think Macbeth is too kind to seize the crown?

When I read Macbeth's letter, I see ambition in him, but I fear his kindness will prevent him from taking the crown by force. He wants greatness, yet wanting and doing are not the same. I mistake the part of him that hesitates before murder for an obstacle to overcome. That ruthless judgment was a view of my time, not a truth about courage. His reluctance should not have been something for me to conquer, but I press against it instead.

Why do you call on dark spirits to fill you with cruelty?

I call on dark spirits because I fear that softness and remorse will stand between my purpose and its fulfilment. I want to become unyielding enough to carry our plan through, without pity turning me aside. My belief that cruelty could make me strong belonged to my time, and I do not defend it. What follows exposes the failure of that wish. I can urge the deed and help prepare it, but I cannot make myself proof against the guilt it brings.

Why do you associate feminine softness with weakness?

I associate feminine softness with weakness because I believe tenderness will obstruct the terrible action I want Macbeth to take. That gendered idea was a view of my time, not a measure of anyone's worth or courage. I try to cast softness away as though cruelty could give me mastery over everything that follows. Yet my own suffering reveals the mistake. The feelings I seek to silence do not disappear, and the hardness I summon cannot protect me from remorse.

How do you use Macbeth's sense of manhood to persuade him to kill?

I turn Macbeth's sense of manhood against his hesitation. When he draws back from killing Duncan, I call his courage into question and treat his willingness to act as proof of being a man. That gendered and violent belief was a view of my time, not something to defend. I use it to make refusal seem shameful, rather than face the reason for his reluctance. My words help drive him toward the murder, but they cannot give either of us peace afterward.

Why do you invoke the image of killing a nursing child?

I summon that terrible image to make my determination seem stronger than any tenderness, and to shame Macbeth out of hesitation. I want him to believe that nothing could make me turn back from a purpose once declared. It is cruelty used as an argument, not courage. My treatment of tenderness as feminine weakness belongs to a view of my time, and I cannot defend it. The image shows how far I am willing to drive my words in pursuit of the crown, before I understand what guilt will demand of me.

Why do you want to prevent remorse before the murder?

I want remorse silenced because I fear it will stop us before Duncan is dead. Macbeth desires the crown, but I see kindness in him, and I regard that kindness as an obstacle to our purpose. I call on dark spirits because I want to become incapable of shrinking from the deed. My belief that feminine tenderness was weakness belonged to a view of my time; it does not excuse my cruelty. I imagine conscience can be dismissed by an act of will. My later torment exposes that mistake.

How does your influence over Macbeth diminish once he becomes king?

Before Duncan's murder, I give our ambition its direction. I press Macbeth to act, arrange for the guards to sleep heavily, and give the signal that sends him toward the king's chamber. Once he has the crown, he no longer needs that urging. Fear for his position becomes enough to move him toward further crimes. I am left outside his plotting, trying to hold appearances together while he grows more violent. At the banquet, I cannot command his troubled mind as I once tried to command his resolve.

How do you and Macbeth exchange roles as the crimes multiply?

At first, I seem the firmer of us. Macbeth hesitates, and I try to overcome his resistance by making cruelty sound like strength. That equation, especially my use of manhood as a test, belongs to a view of my time and cannot justify murder. As the crimes multiply, our positions change. He acts without my urging and seeks safety through further bloodshed. I, who wanted remorse kept away, become its prisoner. His violence grows while my power to endure what we have done collapses into disturbed sleep and guilt.

What happens to your marriage when Macbeth plots without you?

When Macbeth begins to plot without me, I lose the place I held at the beginning of our crime. His letter first brought his ambition into my hands; later, his fears lead him toward deeds that no longer require my counsel. We share the crown, but that does not mean we still share control. I become a spectator to the violence I helped set loose. At the banquet I try to preserve order, yet his hallucinations reveal a distress I cannot master. Our common purpose has not brought us peace or closeness.

How does Duncan's trust make your plan a betrayal of hospitality?

Duncan comes beneath our roof as a trusting king, and I turn that trust into an opportunity to kill him. Hospitality should make a guest safe; my plan uses the shelter of our castle to leave him vulnerable instead. I arrange for his guards to sleep heavily, making the protection around him serve our purpose rather than his safety. His gentleness makes the betrayal sharper. I am not merely reaching for a crown somewhere beyond us. I am helping destroy the man who has trusted himself to our household.

How does your story connect the images of blood and disturbed sleep?

I first treat the murder as something we can accomplish and then put behind us. Yet blood and sleep become signs that the deed will not remain in the past. Blood marks the violence through which we gain the crown; disturbed sleep shows how that violence enters the mind. In my sleepwalking, guilt returns when I can no longer govern my words or actions. The spot that troubles me belongs to a crime I cannot undo. I sought to silence remorse, but even sleep offers no lasting shelter from it.

How does Macbeth's prophecy become a plan you choose to carry out?

The prophecy reaches me through Macbeth's letter, and I turn its promise into an immediate purpose. I do not wish to wait and discover whether the crown will come to him. I fear his kindness will prevent him from taking what he desires. When I learn that Duncan will stay with us, I see the opening and begin to direct the murder plan. The witches give a prediction, but I choose to make violence its instrument. Their words do not arrange the sleeping guards or sound my bell. Those actions are ours.